


Inseparable Connection

by xxcentaurus



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-12-14 13:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11784402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxcentaurus/pseuds/xxcentaurus
Summary: Soulmate Injury AU. In a world where physical pain is shared between soulmates, Alexander discovers that the perfect person for him isn't someone he'd ever be caught calling perfect.





	1. Providence Is Debatable

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do a multi chapter fic for Hamilton, so here it is... 
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://xxcentaurus-w.tumblr.com)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

He wasn't afraid of physical pain, and in a world in which it was shared between soulmates, perhaps that was for the better. Alexander would say he had a healthy distaste for it, yet he considered it a small price to pay for things such as expressing his opinions and beliefs. Throughout his life, vocalizing his thoughts with insufficient forethought often led to less than desirable results. Although, admittedly, even with _excessive_ forethought, the impulsivity of the situation, and Alexander's own impulsivity would likely lead to similar outcomes regardless.

"This wouldn't happen if you just learned how to shut up."

His lips twitched upward as he stood, ignoring Aaron's outstretched hand. "Someone had to put Charles in his place, didn't you hear all that bullshit he was spewing in class?"

Aaron shook his head, disapproval evident in his rigid posture, and narrowed eyes. He was always so uptight and passive; Alexander wondered if there was anything he'd passionately defend, or at the very least, speak up for.

"Is it really worth it though?" Aaron asked. "You're not just hurting yourself, but I'm sure I don't need to remind you."

Right, his _soulmate_. He massaged his upper arm where he had been hit, rubbing away the dull throb. He was unfazed by the pain itself, though he couldn't quite escape the guilt that would creep through him, whenever he injured himself, or accidentally _provoked_ others into doing it for him. The pain was fleeting for them, whoever they were, it would last no more than twenty seconds, and only the initial blow would be felt. Shared between them, traveling through inseparable connection.

Alexander knew he had burdened his soulmate with countless bursts of agony. His pain was tethered to them, subjecting them to his every mistake. He would apologize, when fate finally allowed them to meet, simply explaining that there were some things he deemed worth fighting for, then admitting that he didn't always make the most self preserving decisions.  

He threaded his fingers through his dark hair, a sheepish sigh pushing up through his lungs. "I know, I'll try to be more careful, it's just Charles had to be reminded—"

"That he's a stupid brainless foul?" Aaron crossed his arms, sighing as well, though it was heavy, and void of humour. "I think those were your words. You better be more careful, your poor soulmate."

"Just be glad you're not my soulmate then," he laughed.

They walked towards the school, the light breeze frigid on Alexander's exposed skin. The season was changing; the sweltering summer heat, gradually falling with the changing leaves. Alexander opened the heavy door, the grainy metal was cold against his hand as he pulled it to the side forcefully, watching it slam back against the cracked brick wall behind it.

Aaron raised an eyebrow, his eyes trailing over Alexander, in what he could only decipher as silent judgement. He blinked slowly, his dark lashes almost fluttering in blatant annoyance.

"Oh I am, very glad in fact."

* * *

Law came directly after lunch, as it did every other day, and while it was one of Alexander's favourite classes, he couldn't help but find the theory repetitive, and the lectures lengthy. He enjoyed discussions; they gave him a chance to share his opinion and debate with classmates. However, today wasn't one of those days, and it was not long before he was lost in his own imagination, blocking out the world around him. He often found himself there, when reality wasn't a place he wanted to be. Sometimes it was as simple as class had lulled him to sleep, coaxed him to the world inside his head, though at other times it was nauseating vulnerability that lead him here, shielding him from whatever emotional hardship he had to face.

But now, there was only one thing on his mind, something that never completely left. It was common for him to envision them, imagine the day they'd meet, or blindly fantasize conversations they'd have. Like most people his age, Alexander's soulmate was entirely unknown to him, and in a way he was glad— it allowed his imagination to take flight, soaring through the clouds, sculpting prototype after prototype, endlessly shuffling through personality and appearance. To Alexander, they were an idea— the most powerful suggestion and the most sought after figment, but until the day that fate  decided they were to meet, his imagination was the only place they existed.

They probably lived somewhere far off, away from his small town. No one here was like him; no one here could _possibly_ share such a meaningful connection. Alexander thought of his friends; they were simply amazing, yet their essences weren't compatible with his own. They were clean cut, their bends and indents all crafted with precision and accuracy, pieces that could never dream of snapping into place with Alexander's jagged and wild soul. But his soulmate was different, because whoever they were, they were made to interlock with him.

In Alexander's head they were passionate. They were headstrong in the face of adversity, and relentlessly determined. They fought for their beliefs, standing proudly, refusing to be overlooked. In his imagination they had kind eyes, windows to their own extensive world, hiding in their mind. He liked to think they were golden brown, shimmering with intellect, but brimming with gentle warmth, coexisting because perfection required them both.

Yet even with all that being said, Alexander knew that no matter their personality, no matter their interests, or appearance, or beliefs, he'd love them _unconditionally_. Because they were made for him, and he for them. His imagination worked tirelessly, ambitiously moulding images of them, but they would always fall short, Alexander knew they could never capture his soulmate's brilliance, at least not until the day they meet.

"Look at the board." John whispered, nudging his arm.

Alexander blinked, raising his head from his desk, leaving the world in his mind. He looked up at the board, where his teacher had scrawled the names of the students in his class. He became more alert when he realized the list was not alphabetized; it most likely had something to do with group work. Alexander wasn't fond of working with other students; he much preferred working on his own. It was easier to get things done; other people only slowed him down.

"You're debating Thomas."

Alexander grumbled at the mention of the other student, though he was relieved to learn they weren't being partnered together. He turned to face John. "As long as I'm against him, I'll gladly beat him senseless."

John laughed, sitting back in his seat with a small sigh. "Good luck with that, Thomas might be the only guy in here who stands a chance against you in a debate."

"That's funny."

Thomas may be a strong debater, but Alexander wouldn't believe for a moment they were on equal grounds. His reasoning was often laced with feeling rather than facts, leaving him open for quick, simple rebuttals. Alexander liked to think his arguments were always concise and effective; he thought highly of himself in this regard.

"What's that Alexander, you think you'll beat me?" Thomas snickered.

He felt the weight of Thomas' hand drop roughly on his shoulder, appalled, he turned and shrugged away. Thomas was definitely something. He was different from anyone else Alexander had met, with his charismatic and outgoing nature. He was nothing like Aaron, because Alexander knew he made his beliefs and opinions known, and he would defend them viciously. He liked that about Thomas; he was passionate and strong, and he found him admirable in that aspect; however, his overdramatic and whiny personality ultimately lead Alexander to despise him. He was conceited, disagreeable, and somehow he always had something irritating to say.

"Well yeah, I don't really see you as competition." He crossed his arms, offering Thomas a lazy smirk.

"Do you even know what we're debating, or were you too busy taking a nap?"

Alexander faltered for a moment, subtly turning to John for assistance. He couldn't remember anything his teacher had said relating to the debate; he could only think back to lingering thoughts of his soulmate. He nudged John to get his attention.

"—what, oh, you're debating whether humans are inherently good or bad. You're arguing that they're bad I think." John shrugged, before leaning over his desk, and resting his head in the crook of his arm.

"That won't be hard at all." Alexander turned fully to face Thomas, moving to sit on his desk. Their debate topic was simple enough; it was a fairly common debate, and he wasn't worried. There were countless facts that backed his side of the argument; it would only take a bit of research, and he'd win, guaranteed.

"You're confident, maybe too confident?" Thomas laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. "You'll be happy to know that the winner is chosen by votes, we all know Mr. Adams hates you."

Alexander suppressed a laugh. It was true after all; their teacher despised him. He constantly questioned and corrected Mr. Adams, obnoxiously debating him over the most trivial matters, and interrupting his class to make unnecessary remarks. Alexander knew very well his behaviour was unappreciated, but it was hard for him to let mistakes or inaccuracies slide, regardless of their simplicity.

"You must be disappointed then, because the only way you'd ever win is if he played favourites."

"You're underestimating me I see, you'll be surprised when I win on Thursday. Oh yeah, I hope it doesn't bother you that I volunteered to go first."

"Not at all."

Thomas returned to his seat, a few rows back from where Alexander and John were sitting in the front of the class. Alexander sighed, leaning against his arm on the desk. The fabric of his black sweatshirt was soft against his cheek, almost asking him to close his eyes again. Tonight he'd work on his side of the debate; he'd perfect his speech, and on Thursday, even Mr. Adams would be impressed. He smiled slyly, thinking of Thomas' disappointed expression after undoubtedly losing their debate.

* * *

Time seemed to escape Alexander, especially when he had important projects to work on. No matter the amount he was given, he was in a constant battle with it. Because there was always something more he could add, there was always a way to make his work better.

It was Wednesday night. Alexander had finished his speech, as well as his hefty list of rebuttals on Saturday, the day after the debate was assigned. Tonight was mainly for practicing and perfecting it. He used cue cards, writing bullet points to remind him of the topics he wished to cover and the focal points of the speech.

"You've practiced it like a hundred times now." John laughed, as he spread himself lazily on Alexander's bed. "Watching you stress over this is stressing me out, cause I haven't even started mine yet."

"Yeah, but you're not presenting until _next_ Thursday." He sat on the edge of his bed with a sigh, stretching his arms above his head. "Also, you're not debating against an arrogant idiot. I shouldn't be surprised that Thomas volunteered to go first."

John chuckled. "It's true, Gilbert even said he would tell me all his points, we're going to script it out to make it easier."

"But that takes away the fun of debating, you'll know what he's going to say."

Alexander would say uncertainty was one of the highlights of debates. Anticipating his opponent's arguments, and creating witty rebuttals were simply exhilarating. He was left feeling satisfied, whenever he left his opponents speechless, unable to counter him, and utterly defeated.

"That's the point, it's just some stupid school project, if we script it I can get an A no problem."

"You're so lazy John!" He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You just don't like law."

Alexander knew law wasn't one of John's favourite classes. He enjoyed humanities and social sciences, psychology being his favourite.

"You got me there." John laughed as he sat up, his messy hair bouncing over his shoulders. "But you know the only reason I'm in law class is because you forced me."

"Sorry, was it a waste of an elective?" Alexander snickered. "Would you rather take visual arts?"

"Well now that you mention it, I don't remember the last time someone wrote an essay in visual arts."

It was only October and yet they had already been assigned three essays. Alexander didn't mind. Writing was expressive and creative; it allowed him to gather the endless thoughts in his mind, and put them in one cohesive work. His opinions, his arguments, coupled with extensive research, persuading the reader, showing them why there was no other possible answer. There was no better assignment, than one that allowed him such freedom.

"Okay you have a point, but which one do you think universities will like more?" He teased. "This is our last year of high school, you should thank me for helping you choose your courses."

"Helping?" John scoffed, before crudely imitating Alexander. "Oh my god John, please take Law with me, I'm scared of getting partnered with lazy people, I'm desperate to have at least one friend in my class."

"Shut up, it wasn't like that." He rolled his eyes, lightly punching John in the shoulder. "Besides, Gilbert and Aaron took law too, I would have had at least two friends."

"And if they didn't, then at least you'd have Thomas." John laughed.

"I'd rather do an entire project alone than work with him."

"Oh please, you'd rather do an entire project alone than work with anyone."

That may have been true, however, Thomas was different. Alexander knew full well he'd pull his weight; the problem lied within his personality. He was pompous to the point of arrogance, prancing around as if the world orbited around him, and was to heed to his every demand. Thomas always had something argumentative to say; Alexander would say he was the devil's advocate himself. He was beginning to wonder if a time in which Thomas _didn't_ contradict him even existed.

"Thomas is worse than just anyone though—"

He stopped speaking, as sudden sharp pain engulfed the back of his right shoulder and upper arm, seemingly out of nowhere. It stung terribly, worsening with every second. Alexander clenched his jaw, letting out a quiet gasp. He knew very well the pain he was suffering was not his own, though that fact didn't lessen the agony. Something was raking through his skin, tearing through layers of his flesh— no his soulmate's flesh. He pressed his hand over his arm, attempting to gently massage away the pain, though it wasn't his own to subdue, and the burning persisted.

"Alex?" John moves towards him, carefully touching his back. "Are you okay?"

His eyes were watery, when the twenty seconds finally passed. He blinked furiously, dropping his hand to his lap. What happened? He desperately wanted to know. This wasn't like his soulmate; Alexander _rarely_ felt their pain, let alone pain so excruciating. His eyes widened, as he stared down at his lap. Countless scenarios buzzed through his mind. His shoulder had felt like it was being torn apart; he could almost imagine hot liquid pouring from deep, sickly abrasions. It must have been an accident, possibly a car accident? Alexander closed his eyes, imagining the agonizing sensation in attempt to draw the most information possible. It felt like pavement; it was uneven, sharp and jagged, pressed hard into his shoulder and raked through with no remorse. His flesh gave so _easily_ , soft and delicate, then torn and mutilated.

"My soulmate is hurt." His mind was racing, thoughts circulating and pushing around so quickly, he could hardly think to respond to John.

"Is it bad?" John sat on the edge of the bed, loosely putting his arm around Alexander.

"It was really painful, it felt like something was tearing up my shoulder."

There was nothing he could do to help, to lessen his soulmate's pain, or to simply figure out what had happened. He had to wait for the day they were to meet, because fate wouldn't keep them apart forever, and every day that passed, he was one day closer to seeing them.

For once in his life, time lagged. It slowed it's pace, jogging, and then walking, and at times it felt like it had stopped all together. Anxious anticipation bubbled in his stomach, it seeped upward, spreading through his chest, and coaxing him to act, but with no possible actions, he could only imagine.

John had left a few hours ago, leaving Alexander alone with only his thoughts.

He lay awake in bed, staring mindlessly at the dark void of his ceiling. Before tonight, sharing physical pain with his soulmate didn't bother him. He felt terrible when he hurt them, but otherwise, there wasn't much to say. He wondered if perhaps he was overreacting, since this was the first time he'd ever felt more than a small twinge. Alexander knew he'd caused them pain, possibly just as excruciating as what he felt today, and he doubted _they_ laid awake thinking about it.

He turned his head to the side, counting the spaces between his blinds, watching them for any signs of light. He wanted tomorrow to come. He wanted to busy himself with school work, with socializing, with anything that he could drape over the undying worry spreading through him. His lungs seemed to tighten, clogged with sickly anxiety and dread. He inhaled sharply, turning on his side, and bringing his knees halfway to his chest.

Sleep didn't come easily, as it often did; Alexander fell in and out of it. His dreams and thoughts muddled together, as the night pressed on.

* * *

 Dreamlike thoughts engulfed his mind as he awoke. Alexander could hardly ever remember his dreams; his mind processed them too quickly; it disposed of them too quickly. However, he swore he dreamt of his soulmate. Between the hours he lay awake, and the light's steady stream through his blinds, he could almost imagine them. Luxuriant curls framing their face, their hazy image laced with heavy familiarity. Alexander had begged them to come closer, so he could see their face and know their identity, but his dreams were cruel, and in no way lucid enough to control.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows. Lines of light lay across the skewed bed sheets and blankets as he kicked them to the side, freeing himself from their loose embrace. He threw his legs over the side of the bed, arching his back as he brought his arms above his head.

Today was Thursday. He would debate Thomas later, and even though he was exhausted, he _swore_ he'd win. His practice was cut short last night, but he wondered if John was really exaggerating when he claimed he had practiced a hundred times. There was no doubt in his mind that he knew his speech; he knew his rebuttals, and he knew he could win the debate. He couldn't allow himself to lose confidence.

Alexander quickly changed into a grey sweater and black joggers. He was almost temped to dress more formally for his debate, but chose against it. He yawned tiredly, as he got ready for school. He could easily sleep through his morning classes, since French and History were simple enough.

* * *

Law was after lunch, as it was every second day. Alexander breathed deeply, clutching his binder to his chest as he walked through the hallway. He blinked slowly, his eyelids heavy as his lashes brushed over his cheeks. Sleep sounded euphoric, but Alexander wouldn't give in, he had his debate this period; it was time to put Thomas in his place. He slid into the class a few minutes after the bell, sitting in his regular seat beside John.

"Yesterday was kind of rough, are you feeling alright?"

Alexander nodded.

He opened his binder, taking out his notes for the debate. He fiddled with the thick bundle of cards, pretending to be interested in the crudely scrawled points. In truth he wasn't paying them any mind, instead, he focused on slowly inhaling and exhaling, regulating his breathing in an attempt to slow his heart rate, and compose himself. Alexander couldn't remember the last time he felt nervous before a presentation.

Though he wondered if the jitteriness planted in his stomach, grew from uncertainty. Uncertainty of his soulmate's wellbeing, of the challenges they were facing. Thoughts of them resurfaced, spreading through his mind, and blanketing over the rest of his jumbled thoughts. No, he couldn't allow that. There was simply nothing he could do for them right now. He couldn't focus on them; he had to prepare himself for his debate. He shook his head, blinking furiously as he read his cue cards. He thought about Thomas Hobbes, and his philosophy regarding humanity. He sifted through his rebuttals, organizing them in his head, inhaling sharply. 

"Alexander, it appears Thomas is absent today." Adam's voice interrupted his thoughts. "You will present tomorrow."

He raised his head from his binder, glancing around the room. The rush in his head died down, as did his heart rate and the anxiety that had been constricting his chest. Thomas wasn't here for their debate? Alexander was suddenly struck with anger. He clenched his fists, squeezing his cue cards in his sweaty hand. Did Thomas really have such little respect for him? He couldn't be bothered to show up, even after proclaiming he'd win. Did Thomas just want to make him feel foolish? Alexander hissed under his breath, crossing his arms.

He narrowed his eyes, glaring at the empty desk beside Aaron.

Tomorrow he would confront Thomas. He cared enough about the debate to show up, even after baring his soulmate's pain. Thomas should have cared enough to show up as well; what could have come up that was so _important_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please consider leaving a comment/kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> In case you're interested, here is a link to [my writing blog](http://xxcentaurus-w.tumblr.com). I do requests and prompts and I post a lot of one shots that I don't end up posting here! So feel free to check it out!
> 
> Chapter 2 : Accidents


	2. Accidents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to chapter 2! I'm hoping to update about once a week.

Smoky clouds filled the violet sky, as heavy droplets of rain began falling from it. It was quiet at this hour, only the low buzz emitting from old street lights, and the slow patter of rain hitting pavement could be heard. Thomas revved the engine of his motorcycle; it hummed, coming to life as he twisted the throttle, accelerating down the empty road.

He sighed; it was Wednesday night and he hadn't even begun writing his speech. Alexander had probably finished the night it was assigned, knowing him. He was such an overachiever, an irritating, arrogant perfectionist. Though Thomas couldn't help but be amused at the thought of Alexander working tirelessly, in futile attempt to surpass him. Surely he could pull together a winning speech in the next few hours, besides, he was on his way to James' house, together they could definitely finish this lousy project with time to spare.

Thomas was no procrastinator; he would say the only reason he left his debate to the last minute was because more important things came up. Things such as projects in other classes, and get togethers with friends. In all honesty, he didn't exactly prioritize it; he would have been fully willing to wing it, had James not nagged him to complete it tonight. Thomas had researched Rousseau's philosophical views on many occasions— civics, psychology, philosophy, and now law, it was as if this debate transcended through every class imaginable. Humans are inherently good, and it is civilization and society that corrupt them; what more was there?

He planned to find examples of how this theory played out in real life, and to come up with hard-hitting rebuttals, that would convince the audience he was right, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

He paused for a moment, his mind finding it's way back to Alexander. He had said that during their mock trial hadn't he? Thomas sighed, a playful smirk pulling at his lips. How someone could take a lighthearted, beginning of the year activity, and create such a scene was beyond him. Alexander must have called objection at least fifty times that day, accusing Thomas of hearsay, badgering the witness, leading questions. The list was never ending, leaving Thomas to wonder if Alexander even knew the definition of half the objections he spewed, though with every one of Adams' quiet and defeated mumbles of _sustained_ , he realized his claims held some sort of legitimacy.

Thomas inhaled deeply, enjoying the cool breeze that rushed through his hair, and blew softly against his body. He tiredly watched the road, twisting the throttle, impatient to get to his destination. Though it was somewhat difficult to focus, especially when Alexander's obnoxious antics didn't seem to want to leave his mind. He wasn't even present, yet his idiocy found a way to disrupt Thomas nonetheless.

He shook his head, his hair tickling his cheeks, as he cleared his mind. The turn off was coming he thought to himself. He squinted at the street signs, almost missing James' street entirely. Thomas resorted to leaning heavily, while jerking his handlebars to the side, pulling a sharp right. Of course this mistake was _unmistakably_ Alexander's fault, his mere existence burdened Thomas in the most ridiculous ways sometimes—

His thoughts were cut off when his tires slid, losing grip on the wet pavement. Thomas' chest was suddenly tight, his heart pounding hard against his ribcage. He wouldn't allow himself to crash, not while driving at such a high speed, not on the one day he forgot his helmet. Thomas squeezed the brake lever while simultaneously turning his handlebars in the opposite direction. He slammed his foot down on the rear brake pedal as well, a desperate attempt to level out his motorcycle and reduce his speed. However, the vehicle protested underneath him, momentum working against him. He simply couldn't find any traction, as the motorcycle skidded, tires grating the rough pavement.

Thomas heard the sickening screech of metal, seconds before gravity threw him from his motorcycle. Time slowed for a moment, then immediately picked up, when it slammed him to the ground. He skidded; it was only a few feet, but the uneven and jagged pavement tore the thin material of his sweater, raking through the back of his shoulder and upper arm, with _unforgiving_ heat.

A ragged hiss was ripped from his throat, as he exhaled sharply. He blinked; his head spinning with dizziness mixed with nauseating pain, It radiated across his back and arm, gripping him tightly and holding him down.

"Dammit, Alexander," he spat under his breath.

Thomas sat up slowly. He winced, as even the smallest movements of his shoulder pulled at the sickly abrasions seared across his skin. A muffled gasp pushed up through his throat and clenched jaw. It hurt _terribly_. The back of his shoulder was on fire; heat licked the open wounds, tingling through his torn skin, as he chewed on his lip, suppressing his pained cries. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if his injuries were hospital worthy, but he ultimately pushed the thought aside, his family simply couldn't afford that sort of thing. Besides, only his back and shoulder were affected; he was relieved to have narrowly escaped a head injury.

His knees shook as he straightened himself into a stand. He'd have to walk his motorcycle to James' house, Thomas thought with a defeated and shaky sigh. He took another deep breath, his lungs tight and uncooperative.

Thomas stared down at his motorcycle, his eyes trailing over the worn paint, and then over the thick metal frame. How would he even get it to James' house? He was only a few hundred meters away, but the mere thought of lugging it with his shoulder in such condition, was nauseating. Thomas looked around; the street was completely empty, void of pedestrians and even other vehicles. Maybe he could just push it into the ditch, to hide it and move it from the middle of the road, since walking it didn't feel like a viable option. Thomas inhaled sharply; he wrapped his right arm around his stomach, keeping his shoulder as still as possible, as he pushed the motorcycle, painstakingly heaving it into the ditch. He could imagine the marred paint, the sleek ebony so damaged, silvery metal shone through. He cringed, though there were more pressing things to worry about.

* * *

Without the burden of dragging his motorcycle, Thomas managed to walk to James' house. He knocked on the door, leaning into the frame pitifully. He held his arm, just below the deep abrasions, too frightened to touch the injury itself. Thick liquid oozed over his fingers, droplets rolling over his hand and dripping down his elbow. It was sickening.

James swung open the door, stepping back to allow Thomas entry. "What the hell, you look like shit."

"I crashed while making a sharp turn, I'm fine."

Thomas took his running shoes off at the door; he wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest. The horrible sting in his shoulder kept him on edge, as did the shame of allowing James to see him in such condition.

"What the hell Thomas?" James grabbed his arm, ushering him up the stairs, and into the bathroom. "This looks serious."

"It's not that bad, nothing you can't help me with right?" He clenched his jaw in effort to hide his pain.

James sighed. "Sit down."

Thomas sat on the lid of the toilet, leaning back against the tank. He stared aimlessly at the ceiling, watching the bright white lights, and listening to their low buzzing. His mind swarmed, and as he blinked tiredly, he swore the bulbs were spinning over his head. His pain was hazy, hot and sharp, pulsing through his shoulder like his own heart beat. It hurt so much; with every passing second his composure threatened to fade; he was in a losing battle with himself. The heat was overwhelming, it burned and sparked, tearing at Thomas' facade. He blinked again, slowly and with care, as he lowered his gaze. James' worried face came into his vision; he was holding a cloth— had he always had that? Or had he gotten up, and Thomas just hadn't noticed?

"Can you take off your sweater?" James touched his left shoulder. "Thomas?"

Thomas nodded. He shakily squeezed the metal zipper, tugging it down and undoing it. He shrugged it off his left arm with ease, before carefully grabbing the top of the sleeve by his neck. He swallowed nervously, slowly peeling it away from his arm. Magenta was dyed dark red along his upper arm, the fabric torn and pressed into his open wounds. He stifled a sob; his sweater felt like a layer of his own skin as he peeled it back. It stuck to his deep abrasions on the back of his shoulder as well, the blood drying, gluing the fabric to his flayed, torn flesh. Thomas couldn't hold back a strangled cry, squeezed out from his lungs, when he pulled his sweater off completely. He was winded with agony, his breath ragged and weak.

"There you go, that wasn't so hard was it?"

Thomas' mind screamed that it was, that he had never felt pain so excruciating, but when he tried to talk he found himself breathless. He could only stare at James, with teary eyes. He breathed slowly, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment; he wouldn't allow himself to cry, not over something like this.

"Thomas, say something." James touched his shoulder, his hand moving lower to give his bicep a reassuring squeeze.

"Dammit, that fucking hurt."

He panted, before straightening his back, his fingers brushing over the bottom of his undershirt. He fiddled with the hem of it, debating removing it as well. He would have to, to allow James access to his injuries.

"Here, I'll cut it so you don't have to lift your arm." James pulled sleek medical scissors from the first aid kid he was holding.

Thomas nodded. James cut slowly along the inner seam under Thomas' right arm; he stood to snip the fabric that trailed over top of his shoulder as well, before beginning to slowly peel it back. Thomas clenched his jaw as his undershirt pulled at his wounds. His back burned, heat licking at him again, searing up his shoulder, igniting him with new agony. He shivered, shaking and biting down on the end of his tongue. A sob slipped past his lips, when James gave a notably hard tug on his undershirt.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I can get this off without hurting you."

Thomas felt James' hand on his back, as he eased his undershirt off the back of his right shoulder. It stung; the pain clawed through his raw, marred flesh, as he peeled it away, and a ragged scream was pushed out from Thomas' lungs. He tried to focus on James' hand on his back. It was cold, against his burning skin.

"There, the hard part's done." James tossed Thomas' ruined shirt on the floor, by his sweater.

Thomas just nodded, turning to give James access to his back. Waves of vulnerability washed over him, as James gently dabbed the cloth over his shoulder. The warm, soapy water stung lightly, but it was bearable— an enormous upgrade from removing his sweater and shirt. Thomas let out a shaky sigh. He felt James' gentle hand on his back again, his fingers working nimbly to tape gauze pads over his wounds. The tape crisscrossed over his shoulder, coming over his pectoral muscle, and down his back, around his side. On his arm, James had an easier time with the tape, securing it with bandages around his bicep.

"All done." James stood; he put the first aid kit in the cupboard, and washed his hands in the sink.

Thomas stood as well; the room spun for a moment, the bulbs of light above his head dancing around again as his vision lost focus for a moment. He leaned against the sink counter, letting it pass.

He couldn't go home like this; he didn't want anyone to know what had happened. It was far too shameful. "Do you think I could sleep over?" He asked hesitantly, reluctant to depend so heavily on James.

"Sure, I don't mind." James led him down the hallway to his bedroom. "You can take the bed, I'll sleep on the couch downstairs."

"Sounds good."

Without a second thought, Thomas sat on the edge of James' bed. They'd known each other for years now, their friendship surpassing the stage in which insisting to sleep on the couch was mandatory; that sort of etiquette was far in the past.

"Looks like we won't be able to work on your debate tonight, it doesn't matter though, you won't be going to school tomorrow in this condition." James crossed his arms, watching Thomas sternly.

He was about to protest, but the constant stinging radiating across his back told him perhaps James had a point. He'd miss his debate, but other than that nothing too important was happening tomorrow. Thomas laid back on the bed, carefully adjusting himself in attempt to find the most comfortable position. He'd have to work on his debate tomorrow during the day, and then hopefully he'd be capable of going in on Friday. He couldn't let Alexander jump to conclusions regarding his tardiness. He could imagine it, walking into class on Friday, and being immediately bombarded with questions and accusations. But Thomas wouldn't answer them; he had no intention of telling anyone about his motorcycle crash, let alone _Alexander_.

"My motorcycle." Thomas' eyes widened, as he remembered it was still on the side of the road. He had to retrieve it.

"What about it?" James' was leaning in the doorway, curiosity etched into his expression.

"I left it on the side of the road by the turn in to your street, I need to—"

James sighed, raising an eyebrow. "I'll go grab it, just get some sleep, okay?"

Thomas nodded, watching him leave with a small sigh. He hated feeling like he couldn't handle things on his own, like he needed James to do everything for him. He crossed his left hand over his bare chest, gently resting it over the front of his shoulder, running his fingers over the coarse tape. A frustrated growl resonated through his throat, as Thomas wondered if he'd ever felt pain so excruciating. He had always been careful when taking risks; he couldn't recall ever sustaining such injuries. Of his _own_ at least. Thomas' mind wandered to his soulmate.

They were suppose to be the single most perfect person for him, or at least that's what he had always been told. Thomas didn't exactly _doubt_ it, though he did wonder how such a person existed, when he knew himself he wasn't the most agreeable, nor the easiest to get along with. Thomas closed his eyes; he thought about the day he'd meet this, so called perfect person. For starters, he'd definitely have to apologize for today. Even if it was a mere twenty seconds, it had been excruciating, and Thomas could only imagine their surprise and panic on enduring such agony.

He closed his eyes for a moment, threading his fingers through the tight curls of his hair. It was ironic; he was lying down, wallowing in his own agony, yet his mind had found it's way to worrying about them. This mystery person, that he would one day meet, and _somehow_ they were to share this deep connection. Sometimes Thomas thought this entire thing was simply the power of suggestion. He knew their physical pain was linked to his own through some sort of sick destiny, like a twisted lifeline, but the idea of having someone assigned to him by fate terrified him.

Feeling his soulmate’s pain terrified him.

It was too frequent, he thought to himself; he’d push it to the back of his mind at times, because there was nothing he could do, and ignoring it sometimes felt like his only option. There were only so many hits he could mark off as clumsiness, only so many locations he deemed likely as self inflicted. He hated to think someone was hurting them, but there weren’t many other explanations. He hated it, and that was why he ignored it, because thinking about this person he had never met, worrying for them, and suffering at the thought of their pain, at the feel of their pain. It was too much for him. 

Yet even with that being said, in the back of his mind, Thomas couldn't help but think about his soulmate, wonder about them, and imagine them. Because if this person was truly meant for him, he hoped they were patient and kind. He hoped they were the type of person that would smile sweetly at him, and hold his hand as they walked through central park together, in the warm summer breeze, but also in the winter, when snow blanketed the city. The type that would support him, and be there for him when things felt impossible, encourage him when he was down, and help him back up. Thomas thought they must be easy to talk to, a good listener who's trustworthy and gentle. He felt his lips twitch upward. He imagined himself holding them in his arms, their head pressed gently against his chest, right below his chin, and their hair spread messily across his pillow.

It was embarrassing to think of such things, but somehow, staring up at the dark ceiling with only the low whistle of the wind flooding through the open window, allowed his mind to wander further than usual.

Sleep came easier than Thomas would have thought, though it was hazy, edging on lucid with how conscious he felt. Soon it deepened; whisking Thomas away from the restless ache, spreading through his shoulder, and the dreadful thoughts of his soulmate's pain. He was weightless, floating through airy fields, as clouds caressed his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, feel free to let me know what you think so far!
> 
> Chapter 3 : Confrontation


	3. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a delayed update! Here's chapter 3...

It was Friday. The morning had passed by quickly; his routine repetitive, memorized after having done it everyday for the past four years of his life. Alexander sighed, pushing his hands into the pockets of his sweater, as the soft breeze brushed through his long hair. The temperature was really starting to drop, the warm summer air had been fading out all throughout September, and now as October dragged on the air became frigid; Alexander shivered. He glanced down at the cracks in the sidewalk, mindlessly following them with his eyes; they snaked across the concrete, some retreating towards the curb where they disappeared over the edge, while others slithered forward, desperate to continue, but eventually each of their paths were cut off.

Like the shallow cracks that ran through worn concrete, Alexander felt cut off from the path he wished to reach. As if his attempt to push forward was stunted, corralling him in place, keeping him from exploring the unknown. There was _nothing_ that could break the barrier around him; he would have to wait for it, but with no indicated time, only the notion of waiting itself, Alexander was impatient and frustrated.

Soon he arrived at school; he passed under the tall maple trees scattered across the yard as he walked towards the doors. Their leaves were dyed brightly, some barely clinging on as the rush of wind pushed them around, fluttering above Alexander's head.

"Alex," his name was followed by heavy foot steps and a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head, a small smile making it's way to his lips. "You slept through the entire period yesterday, are you sure you even want to show your face today?" Gilbert playfully hit his shoulder.

"I was tired, besides, we've been doing verbs all week, I'm sure I can sleep through one class." He pushed Gilbert away clumsily, laughing as he pretended to stumble back.

"I wouldn't be so sure, yesterday we were doing subjonctif passé and plus-que-parfait, do you even know what that means?"

Alexander paused, crossing his arms over his chest with a laugh. "Kind of, I'll figure it out."

He and Gilbert walked into the school; the gust of heated air upon entering was relieving, a pleasant change from the cold outdoors. Alexander headed for the main staircase; it ran up through the centre back of the building, crisscrossing through to the second and third floors. He was headed to his first class, which he and Gilbert had together. Ascending the stairs was a trek, he thought to himself as his thighs burned.

"Damn those stairs get me every time." He closed his hand around the strap of his bag, panting quietly.

"You're just out of shape." Gilbert walked beside him, chuckling, as they weaved through the busy hallway.

Their path was flooded with students, and with them the heavy scent of sweat, mixed with some sort of chemical; it was a weak attempt at freshening up the school, and Alexander wondered if the custodians knew it only added to the odour. He cringed, hurrying along towards his class. He walked in a few minutes before the bell, glancing around, he noticed the room was mostly full, students having arrived well before the period began. Fortunately there were a few unoccupied desks at the back, which Alexander and Gilbert slid into, away from the watchful eye of their teacher.

Following the national anthem, Alexander sat down, leaning back against his chair, continuing even when the plastic squeaked under his weight. He had a strong urge to rest his head on the desk; it was beckoning him with the promise of comfort and relaxation. But he really couldn't make a habit of sleeping in class, as tempting as the offer was.

He busied himself with watching Rochambeau write sentences on the board, convincing himself he was paying attention, but somehow he was seeing without really _looking_ , his brain lacking motivation to process the information, or even store it.

"To review, the subjunctive verb tense is used to express emotion or judgment. It contains a subordinate clause, introduced by that or which."

When Rochambeau spoke english, his accent weighed heavily on his words, though Alexander would say it had a pleasant hum, even though it was nearly impossible to understand him in the beginning. But soon he got used to it, the english words rolling gracefully, coupled with the muddled syntax. Perhaps hearing Gilbert's accented english for so many years helped him adjust he thought smugly, though it could have been easily due being enrolled in french immersion for most of his scholarly life.

"Mes amis doutes que j'aie mangé la baguette."

With every practice sentence Rochambeau read, Alexander's vow to stay awake dwindled. The words rolled off his tongue, smoothly and effortlessly, contrary to the butchered pronunciations he was used to hearing from his peers. He told himself that was why he was so easily lulled away from consciousness, why each time he blinked his eyelids stayed shut for a moment more, until he leaned forward on his desk, his head in the crook of his arm.

"Ils ne pensaient pas que j'eusse mangé la baguette." Rochambeau was starting to sound muffled, layers of thought blanketed over the thick vibrations of his voice.

Alexander's lids fell over his eyes, his lashes brushing his cheeks; this time he didn't open them, though he silently promised himself he'd stay relatively awake. As long as he could hear his teacher's voice he was satisfied, though at this point he could hardly understand what he was saying. Soon Rochambeau was white noise, coaxing Alexander further away from consciousness, until he could no longer hear that smooth, elegant french, and there was only silence.

Sometimes the only time thoughts weren't racing through his head, spreading ideas, running scenarios, filling his mind with bustling activity, was when he slept. Though perhaps Alexander had merely lost his control over them, allowing them to roam freely, wildly digging through his extensive cognitive world, creating imagery he wouldn't have thought to while awake.

Gradually, the darkness cleared and Alexander was standing alone in the middle of a street. The pavement beneath his feet cracked, dark lines running endlessly along the narrow road. He glanced around, his mind hazy, and then his focus suddenly on the slim yellow line, faded and worn, cutting through the centre of the pavement. He turned abruptly, almost losing his footing, as he moved to stare down the street, his eyes following the line until they reached the fiery horizon. It burned brightly, slowly withdrawing it's tendrils from the darkened sky.

Alexander tried to take a step forward, but he was frozen in place. He was indifferent for a moment, but then there was nothing he wanted more than to turn around. Anxiety prickled his neck, trailing down his back, bringing cold sweat with it. He shivered, the hair on his arms standing on end, as his chest tightened. His mind begged him to make sure he was alone, but when he tried to turn his head he was met with resistance, his neck stiff and uncooperative.

Then there was rumbling, somewhere behind him, it made the road vibrated, swaying to the beat of the low sound, making knees shake. Alexander's heart pounded violently; he could feel it's erratic beat in his throat, clogging his shallow breath as his lungs tightened. His mind raced, though it was handicapped, foggy, as he struggled to think rationally. The rumbling only grew louder, until Alexander could make out the sound of screeching tires, turning on a rusted axis. He had to move; he was going to _die_ if he stood still, but he couldn't. He was still glued in place.

"Alexander," His name was booming from the sky, louder than the vehicle raging behind him, and it's essence seemed to drown him in darkness.

The road was gone, and when he opened his eyes, he realized he was still in french class. He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut, then opening them, until his vision cleared. Gilbert was looking at him, his expression contorted, his eyebrows furrowed curiously.

"You said you weren't going to sleep." Gilbert turned away, focusing on a paper, a worksheet of some sort on his desk.

"I really wasn't planning on it." Alexander shrugged, yawning as he moved his own worksheet closer, from the corner of his desk. "Rochambeau didn't hand these out right?"

"Luckily for you, he did not."

He remembered his dream vividly. The quiet road, the loud rumble of a vehicle behind him. He knew his dream derived from his soulmate's pain, from being helpless, unable to do anything but wait. He thought he had pushed them to the back of his mind, deciding there was nothing he could do, and focusing on them would only drown him in stress. But his subconscious wasn't finished, it hadn't let go of the sickening anxiety that had overwhelmed him the day before. 

* * *

His first two classes past quickly; the lessons were bland, though he managed to stay awake for the entirety of history. If there was anything he was remotely looking forward to, it was his debate, and as Alexander walked into law class, he held his head high. He had practiced the night before, irritated by Thomas' absence, but silently grateful for the extra time. With renewed confidence, Alexander slid into his seat at the front of the room. He opened his binder, taking out his thick stack of cue cards to review them. Perhaps Thomas had a chance the day before, when his mind was elsewhere, swarmed with anxious thoughts of his soulmate, but now he was focused, and he was ready.

He found himself leaning on his desk, his arms outstretched, fiddling with the cards. Humans were inherently evil, born into a world in which only the bonds of society and civilization could tame them, and veil them in righteousness. Alexander wondered if he supported Thomas Hobbes' ideologies, if he thought himself that humans are naturally bad, because in his life he's encountered proof of both.

"Are you ready?" John touched his shoulder, so he turned to face him, letting his thoughts subside.

"Of course I am, I was ready yesterday." John smiled, leaning back in his seat. He seemed satisfied with this response so Alexander continued. "The question should be, is _Thomas_ ready?"

He turned to face the back of the class, watching the door, waiting for him to arrive. The bell had rung moments ago, and Adams already began marking down the attendance. Alexander's chest grew tight, his fists clenching the back of his chair, impatient. Perhaps Thomas procrastinated and decided to take yesterday to finish; it was the most probable reasoning for his absence, though it irritated Alexander to no end. He sighed; his gaze almost unfocused with how long he'd been staring at the door.

"Maybe he's not here again." John suggested.

Alexander shrugged, turning around with a drawn out sigh. "What an annoyance, I should have expected something like this."

"Presenting Monday isn't that bad, you get a couple more days to practice."

"I know, but I'm ready today, I want to get it over with." He crossed his arms, his brows furrowed. "I'm not interested in dragging this on."

"You're late." Adams' voice, or more accurately his words, lead Alexander to turn his head towards the back of the room.

Thomas was walking to his seat, his bag slung over his left shoulder; he moved briskly, not even bothering to respond to Adams' chiding. Somehow he seemed less put together than usual, his vibrant arrogance forgotten, instead he appeared disgruntled. He couldn't place the difference exactly, hidden away in his posture and his expressionless body language, or perhaps the scowl he wore as he sat down, glancing in Alexander's direction. He pushed the thought aside though, focusing on the cards stacked neatly on his desk. For the very first time, Alexander was relieved to see Thomas; it washed over him, pulling away some of his previous irritation and disdain.

"You have ten minutes to prepare yourselves." Adams hardly looked up from his laptop as he spoke.

Alexander stood, letting his chair screech quietly across the floor. As thankful for Thomas' presence as he was, it couldn't even begin to compensate for his absence. Alexander had been ready to debate, or maybe he wasn't ready, but he was willing to attempt, regardless of the situation he had found himself in the night before. His footsteps were heavy, as he marched down the narrow aisle towards Thomas' desk. He wouldn't be satisfied until he was given an apology at the very least.

"Alexander—"

"Aaron this doesn't concern you." He balled his fists, leaning over Thomas' desk, his eyes narrowed, as he watched his face for any hint of emotion. Oddly he found none, so he spoke, in hopes of provoking him. "Where the hell were you yesterday?"

"That's none of your concern darling, I'm here today aren't I?"

Alexander sighed. "It _is_ my concern, because I was here and I was ready to present, but you didn't show up." Thomas didn't so much as flinch; he sat there, his lips pursed, as if challenging Alexander to continue. "You should have at least come to class, instead of shamefully hiding away cause you procrastinated all week!"

"Now you're just making assumptions, how do you know something important didn't come up?" Thomas stood, his own eyes narrowing as he looked down at Alexander.

"What came up Thomas?"

He was suddenly conscious of his peers, their eyes on him as he raised his voice in the middle of the room. He flushed, though this embarrassment was not enough for him to retreat all together, not before Thomas apologized and explained himself. Alexander was persistent; he had to know what was so important. Had it just been simple procrastination, or perhaps something, _excusable_? He doubted it was the latter, but there was only one way to find out.

Alexander grabbed Thomas with intention of dragging him to the back of the room, where they could finish this ridiculous conversation. He didn't need ten minutes to prepare; this was a far better use of his time. But when his fingers wrapped roughly around Thomas' bicep, pulling him along, his hand was immediately shoved off, followed by what he could only describe as a strangled hiss.

"Don't touch me."

"What's your problem?" Alexander turned to face him, as they walked towards the back of the class.

He was surprised to see Thomas holding his arm, his fingers gently rubbing it as his eyebrows drew in. For a moment Alexander was worried, guilty even, for being the cause of this odd reaction, but soon it passed, his mind convincing him Thomas was only pretending.

"Knock it off, I'm not buying any of this, I barely touched you!"

He crossed his arms over his chest, his fingers digging into the blue fabric of his sweater. Thomas' acting had somehow deceived him, the pained expression almost appearing real, especially when coupled with the pitiful way he held himself. It was pathetic and lowly, igniting Alexander with newfound hatred. Without any real forethought he lunged forward, his hands connecting with Thomas' shoulders as he pushed him, hard.

He watched him skid backwards a few paces, before lowering his head, and leaning back against the wall of the classroom. Satisfaction flooded Alexander, if only for a moment, it pulsed through his stomach, spreading through him like live wire. Thomas deserved this for being such a nuisance, for always contradicting him, and for his unruly arrogance. But like himself, Thomas wouldn't back down so easily; they've had many disputes in the past, none physical, but enough for Alexander to know what came next, as if it was scripted out in his mind. Thomas would charge forward, normally with a verbal attack, provocation, or some sort of well fabricated insult. Surely he would follow suit, Alexander told himself he was moments away from hearing some sort of garbage, spewing from his lips; that or perhaps he'd retaliate with a shove of his own.

But with every passing second—every moment Thomas stood there, leaning against the wall, his head lowered, and only his heavy breathing audible, Alexander began to worry. He was holding his arm again, massaging it, as if to subdue some sort of pain.

"Thomas?" His voice was hoarse; he was unsure how to react, but his guilt wouldn't allow him to stay silent. "Are you okay?"

Thomas raised his head, his eyes trailing over Alexander. They were narrowed, a subtle wetness glistening over his deep brown irises, liquid threatening to fall over the edge of his lids. Was he _crying_? No, that was absurd, completely unimaginable. Alexander wouldn't believe it for a moment; he refused to acknowledge it as a possibility, because if Thomas was really emoting in such a way, _he_ was at fault. He caused this. Guilt coiled around him, tightening around his chest, leaving him breathless. Why had he grabbed Thomas like that, _twice_? He should have realized something was wrong, instead of shrugging it off as acting.

"Alexander!" Adams stood, his fists clenched, his eyes trailing over Alexander.

From his peripheral vision, he watched Thomas leave the class in a hurry. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice screamed at him to follow, because now his questions had multiplied. Thomas' injury held uncomfortable familiarity, and his mind drew equally uncomfortable conclusions, crude sketches he pushed away, because he refused to consider such an _absurd_ suggestion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I'd love to hear what you think so far! 
> 
> Chapter 4 : Alexander Is


	4. Alexander Is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this wayyy earlier but I got busy with school! Anyways I hope you enjoy chapter 4!

Thomas scowled, walking briskly through the empty hall, his fingers gently massaging his arm. He blinked furiously, unsatisfied with the liquid building up in his eyes, due to something he considered trivial. His jaw was clenched, his teeth almost grinding. It didn’t hurt that much; he told himself everything was fine, because admitting to the agony radiating through the abrasions across his skin, would only make it worse.

He turned into the washroom, leaning heavily against the dirty mirror, and panting quietly. He began unzipping his sweater, his fingers shaking against the cold metal of the zipper as he tugged it down. His breathing quickened; he needed to hurry; he was expected to present today, and with Alexander’s irritating persistence he doubted he’d be able to avoid it. He quickly shrugged it off; thankful he hadn’t worn a shirt underneath—though he wouldn't have been able to pull it over his head with his shoulder in such bad condition anyway.

He cursed when he looked in the mirror, glaring at the splotches of crimson, threatening to pass through the bandages wrapped around his arm. Some of the stains appeared maroon, dried, most likely from tossing and turning in his sleep. While others were fresher, no doubt a result of Alexander’s rough treatment. Thomas bit the inside of his lip; he’d have to rewrap his injuries later.

He reached for his sweater he discarded on the floor, clenching his jaw when the movement disrupted his back. He hated how the smallest twists of his his shoulder, or the slightest movement in unfavourable directions caused flares of sharp pain. He wanted to go home and rest; sitting around and doing nothing sounded really appealing, but he’d have to appease Alexander and debate him first. He sighed.

The sound of heavy footsteps interrupted his thoughts, and his chest tightened. He was in the washroom, he couldn’t expect to have it all to himself, even if he had chosen the one at the back of the school, which tended to be less occupied than the ones closer to the centre of the building.

“Thomas, are you in here?”

Alexander’s voice rung out through the corridor, and nearly drove him to a state of panic. He scrambled to pull his sweater on, but his hands shook, and anxiety pooled in his stomach making it difficult to even get his arms through the sleeves. _Anyone_ but him would have been better; he hated the mere idea of Alexander seeing him in such a pitiful state. Alexander, who contradicted him and debated with him in class, who’d always been a sort of rival to Thomas, who’d constantly compete with him, even over the smallest things.

Thomas had a reputation to uphold; he wanted to be seen as strong, and in Alexander’s eyes, an intimidating opponent. But aside from that, he wanted Alexander to respect him and think highly of him. So naturally Thomas’ esteem shrivelled, his pride dissolved, and dread coiled around the thick muscles of his abdomen, when Alexander turned the corner. He stood in front of the stark concrete wall, his eyes traveling straight to the mess of bandages around Thomas’ arm that he had yet to hide. He was drowning in vulnerability, waves of it washed over him relentlessly, pushing him deeper, until breathing it in was the only option. At least Alexander couldn’t see his back; he knew it was the worst.

“What happened to you?” His eyes seemed to widen.

“I hurt myself.” Thomas hated how the words felt in his mouth; they were bitter, drenched with weakness. “Motorcycle accident.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. Shame rotted through his chest cavity, clinging to his lungs and ribcage, making his breathing sharp. So before Alexander could look any longer, he clumsily zipped his sweater, crossing his arms over his chest. He was moments from brushing past him and heading back to class, but Alexander’s eyes were wide, and mouth slightly agape. He looked frozen, as if the world was travelling quicker than his mind could process—or a more likely scenario, he was simply lost in thought. Thomas wondered why he stared so intently though, his eyes following his arm as he moved towards the door.

“It can’t be true,” Alexander said, his eyebrows furrowing as he stepped in front of Thomas, blocking his path. “You’re right arm?”

Thomas was confused, then irritated. He pointed at his upper arm and said, “it’s my right.”

Alexander faltered, his eyes widening, and Thomas wondered how much more they could enlarge before they’d take up the entirety of his face.

“No,” he trailed off.

“How the hell do you plan on beating me in a debate when you don’t know right from left?” He was mildly amused by his idiocy. “Lets just head back to class.”

“Thomas, hear me out.”

“Fine.” Thomas didn’t like where this was going.

He thought perhaps he was about to be roped into something ridiculous, most likely relating to their presentation. But Alexander was stern, his voice shaking a bit, and perhaps Thomas should have clued in that he was not talking about school work.

“I think, it’s possible, that you’re my, well, how do I put this?” He paused. “Soulmate?”

He couldn’t suppress the bursts of laughter that escaped his throat, on hearing those words. Soulmate? Alexander? That was an absurd suggestion. _Alexander_ was the most irritating and disagreeable person he knew; he was recklessly passionate, and far too outspoken. Thomas’ soulmate was understanding and gentle, they were kind, trustworthy, simply an idea of perfection that fluttered through his mind whenever he allowed himself to think of them. Alexander was teasing him, he had to be because there was no other explanation.

“Bullshit, stop messing with me.”

“I’m not, I swear I’m not!” Alexander narrowed his eyes, pointing at his arm. “I felt your pain, I know it’s not just your arm, the back of your shoulder is also injured, right across your shoulder blade.”

Thomas scoffed. “It doesn’t take a genius to guess something like that,” he gestured vaguely at Alexander, “clearly.”

He was perplexed at Alexander’s persistence, wondering why he didn’t stop after Thomas wasn’t amused or fooled. He thought of himself as intelligent and logical; he wasn’t someone who could be convinced of something so outrageous that easily.

“Don’t make me prove it to you, it would hurt us both.” Alexander smirked, his lips upturning sightly, and eyes narrowing.

Thomas’ chest tightened, because for a moment he thought maybe Alexander wasn’t trying to trick him, and he really thought they were soulmates— as if it was even a _possibility_. He shivered at the thought, and asked, “do you really believe this?”

Alexander crossed his arms; he was looking at the floor, mindlessly blowing hair from his face. As he waited for a response, Thomas couldn’t help but stare at the dark brown strands, spilling out messily from his low ponytail. This entire situation was uncomfortable, and he could hardly stand the idea itself, but somehow focusing on something trivial, like Alexander’s hair, took his mind away from the nauseating worry, fluttering in his stomach.

“You know, I think I actually do believe it,” Alexander spoke, looking up to meet Thomas’ stare. “I’m always getting called an asshole, so it makes sense that it’s you right?”

Thomas snickered. He could have expected a snarky response, regardless of their conversation’s gravity, he was speaking still speaking to Alexander after all.

“Fine then.” He drew back his fist, a small smile tugging at his own lips. “After what you did, it only makes sense for me to prove to this is just your imagination.”

“Go ahead.” Alexander looked away. “I’m sorry about earlier by the way, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His voice was shaky, lacking confidence. Thomas thought maybe it was hard for him to apologize, but nonetheless, he found himself appreciating it.

Thomas’ fist shook. Hitting Alexander would have sounded wonderful, moments after he aggravated his injuries, he thought smugly, but in seriousness, he realized he couldn’t hit him, even now, to try and figure out whether his claims were legitimate. He lowered his hand, crossing his arms over his chest.

“There’s better ways to figure out, I'm not going to hit you Alexander.” He sighed heavily, leaning against the concrete wall.

“Or you could just believe me.” He shrugged. “You felt my pain on Friday right?”

Thomas let his mind wander back to nearly a week ago. He closed his eyes, running the day’s events through his mind. He was assigned the debate that afternoon, but before law class—at lunch, he had felt it. The sharp sting of a fist, colliding with his upper arm, and his elbows skidding on pavement when he was— no his soulmate was pushed to the ground. His breath caught in his throat, was it true then? Could the impossible have somehow breached reality? Thomas clenched his fist, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“I felt my _soulmate’s_ pain, definitely not yours.” It was a weak attempt at convincing Alexander, or perhaps just himself, that his image of them was correct, that they were this kind, amazing person, this person that was surely not Alexander, because Alexander wasn’t anywhere close to Thomas’ definition of perfect. His heart raced, spreading sickening anxiety through his chest.

“I don’t like it anymore than you do, I’m just facing the facts.” He sighed, rolling up the sleeve of his sweater to show Thomas shallow gashes on his elbow.

Thomas swallowed; his head suddenly felt light, and he couldn't take his eyes off the scrapes on Alexander’s arm. They were proof weren't they? Undeniable and blatant. Alexander was his soulmate. He repeated that fact in his mind a multitude of times, but it didn’t sink it, Thomas thought it never would _fully_ sink in.

He narrowed his eyes and turned away. It made no sense; there must have been some sort of mistake if his pain linked directly to Alexander of all people. Their connection must be separable; he hoped there was some conceivable way he could escape this fate. But fate wasn't exactly something that could be altered; fate itself was thought to be inevitable.

Thomas could only hope.

“We can just forget about it I don't care.” Alexander’s eyes looked downcast, but he perked up, putting on a lazy smile. “Just cause our pain is linked doesn't mean you have to mean anything to me. You’ll always be the guy I beat in debates, thats all. So you can stop looking at me like I have the plague.”

His words stung. A weird sort of pang, pulsing just below his ribcage. But Thomas quickly shrugged it off, he couldn't agree more with Alexander’s words; there shouldn't have been any pain in them, just truth.

“I second that.” He fiddled with the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes falling to the floor.

Silence fell over them, and as uncomfortable as it was standing, facing each other, wordlessly, in the bathroom at the back of the school, Thomas made no attempt to amend it.

Alexander was his soulmate. Alexander’s pain was linked to him. But what did that even mean? He sighed, exhaling deeply through his nose. For starters, it meant those nights Thomas laid awake, unable to sleep, because his soulmate’s pain struck him with relentless worry, was Alexander’s doing. It meant that the unease he felt around the entire situation— the unease that stemmed directly from the inability to protect his soulmate from harm, to understand exactly what was happening. Suffering with the knowledge they were hurting, but being left entirely in the dark. It was cruel, and maybe if his soulmate— if _Alexander_ was more careful and injured himself less, Thomas would have been able to accept the concept, but as things were he always found himself pushing it away.

Now all of it, was Alexander’s doing, because he was always finding ways to irritate Thomas, and drag him down— and this was his biggest feat yet. But a different way of looking at it, a way Thomas almost wanted to remove completely from his mind, was that those _soft_ caring feelings that resided deep in his chest, that pulsed through him whenever he felt pain that was not his own, were attributed to Alexander. And then he had another thought. It was possible his words stung because for a second, Thomas registered them as his soulmate’s. They would never say anything so harsh, they were kind and gentle, perhaps even a bit timid. But soon the ideal image he had of his soulmate started to fade, and when he looked up Alexander was there, standing in front of him.

“I take it back.” Thomas looked away again, pretending to be interested in the lint, clinging to his sweater, as he spoke. “I don't second what you said, I actually think, maybe if you’re willing, you could give me your number.”

Humiliation couldn't even begin to describe how he was feeling. His head down, his confidence beaten to a bloody pulp, asking _Alexander Hamilton_ for his number. What universe was he living in, because it surely wasn't his own, he thought sarcastically.

“Work for it Jefferson,” he retorted almost immediately, a smirk Thomas could only describe as malicious pulled at his lips.

“Excuse me darling?” He was irritated, but somehow not entirely unamused. “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who viciously attacked me.” He exaggerated, gesturing at his arm. “You owe me your number at the very least!”

When he took a moment to fully comprehend the words that just spilled from his lips, Thomas faltered; his face was suddenly hot, as he awaited a crude remark or some sort of taunt. But to his surprise, Alexander took out his phone, wordlessly handing it to him.

“Meet me halfway and give me yours.”

He was always quick-witted, smug, but with a certain charm, that Thomas was unfortunately not opposed to. Alexander was interesting; it was difficult to come up with a more fitting word while his head was jumbled, racing to just catch up with the new information. Thomas should count himself lucky his mind didn't short circuit— his poor psyche too naive to accept the idea of a foul creature like Alexander, sharing such a significant connection with him. He should also count himself lucky Alexander was so prone to injury, perhaps he’d just drop dead and the universe would assign him a new soulmate. He chuckled at the idea, but he was suddenly washed over with snippets of sleepless nights— overwhelming stress, and that same undying worry. He decided that regardless of their _identity_ , he never wanted to feel his soulmate’s pain. But at least now if he did, he’d be able to help them, he’d be able to do something, even if _they_ were _him_.

Thomas typed in his number, and handed Alexander his phone. “One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“You get hurt too much, it pisses me off.” Thomas clenched his fists, conflicted feelings weighed heavily on his chest. There was no way he could articulate it the way his mind had formulated it— that would leave him far too vulnerable, and in front of Alexander at that. “Feeling your pain annoys me.”

That same downcast look came over his eyes, but when it vanished he seemed quick to respond. “Well feeling your pain, _especially_ two days ago, made me want to,” Alexander trails off, the determination glowing in his eyes seemed to fade, and he looked away. “It made me want to do something, but I couldn’t, because I didn't know.” He allowed himself to meet Thomas eyes, and they seem to glimmer with some hidden emotion he couldn't decipher. “Lame comeback, I know, but I kind of went a bit crazy that night, thinking about, uh, you I guess?”

“What’s that Alexander?” He drew his lips in an over the top, flirtatious grin. “Would you say you’re crazy about me?”

Thomas couldn't stop himself from taking the opening Alexander had given him. He liked teasing him, there was no way around it. But regardless, hearing him admit similar feelings, almost the exact same feelings Thomas had regarding their connection, he was relieved, and glad.

“I’m being serious Thomas, you scared me so bad.”

“I’m sorry.” With hesitation, Thomas touched Alexander’s shoulder, his fingers lightly gripping the fabric of his sweater. “I told myself I’d apologize to them, but I didn't think I’d be apologizing to you.”

He laughs lightly, before becoming more serious. “I’m sorry I couldn't do anything to help.”

Thomas’ gaze softened, as Alexander’s words dug up countless memories of his own muttered apologies, that had never reached his soulmate’s ears. “There's nothing you could have done.”

Alexander smiled, placing his hand overtop of Thomas’ on his shoulder. “Want to head back to class, _soulmate_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, I made [a post](https://xxcentaurus-w.tumblr.com/post/165946176865/jamilton-soulmate-injury-au) about my headcanons for this AU on my Tumblr if anyone's interested!  
> (If you've read this far it's not really new, BUT I will be posting about the supporting characters of this fic there as well, so look out for that!)
> 
> Ch 5 : What About Tomorrow?


	5. Thomas Jefferson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the insanely long wait! This chapter is short, but Im planning on having the next chapter done within he next week!

Alexander laid in bed, his arms tucked behind his head as he stared mindlessly at the ceiling. The day had been more eventful than he could have imagined, winning the debate was satisfying, but it was the events that occurred before it that had him more amazed. He’d been dreaming of meeting his soulmate for years now— ever since he found out about what that unidentifiable pain was, he’s been desperate to get to know them. It was Thomas, and perhaps it was a tad disappointing, but when he thought about it, he wondered if it was really that much of a surprise. The idea must have been somewhere in the back of his mind, when Thomas didn't come to school the day after he’d felt his soulmate’s pain. He was a logical person, who would have surely considered it, at least _subconsciously_.

He sighed heavily, running his conversation with Thomas over in his mind. At first it was uncomfortable, proclaiming something so outrageous, and being faced with immediate denial. But Alexander knew right away, when he saw Thomas’ injuries; there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind.

Now Thomas was, certainly someone _special_ , for lack of better positive words. Irritating, argumentative, conceited beyond belief, but perhaps among those problematic aspects, he had a certain charm? Alexander rejected the idea immediately, laughing to himself. There was no way he could fall for Thomas without some force, which he assumed the universe would supply. Fate was unchangeable wasn't it? If he was doomed— destined, to be with an incompetent fool, then so be it.

* * *

 The next day was Saturday, but for some reason Alexander couldn’t seem to sleep in. Perhaps he should blame Thomas for that— for filling his mind, making it far too busy to let down it’s guard and rest. He smirked to himself, as he pulled out his phone.

John texted him a few times last night, he realized, looking at the time stamps. He was wondering if Alexander wanted to come over to watch movies and spend time together— Lafayette and Hercules would be there too, so he felt obligated to go. He couldn’t really pass up an opportunity to spend time with his group of friends. Besides, he did have some interesting information to share with them, if he could even get it out without dying of shame, he thought.

 _Sorry for the late response, I’ll see you at noon. I have something cool to tell you._ He quickly typed a response. He didn’t expect John to even see it for a few hours, it was eight in the morning, far too early for anyone to get up on the weekend, he thought bitterly. However, his phone buzzed within seconds of him putting it down.

He read the message. _Can’t wait until noon, tell me now Alex._

He rolled his eyes, leaving John on read.

* * *

 

The few hours between getting up, and heading over to John’s passed quicker than he would have expected. He found himself standing in front of his house, hesitantly knocking on the door. It was odd how his heart pounded so violently, at the mere idea of telling his friends the, debatably good news. None of them were particularly fond of Thomas, but neither was he — besides, he didn’t ask to be Thomas’ soulmate. He sighed heavily, jumping when John swung open the door.

“Took you long enough.”

Alexander just shrugged, as John ushered him inside, and they headed to the basement. John had a fairly large house, at least compared to Alexander’s. His basement was finished, with hardwood floors throughout the hallways, and rooms. He followed him to the television room, dropping himself lazily on the couch.

“John said you had some interesting news,” Gilbert nudged him, hardly giving him a chance to enter the room before questioning his, ‘news’. He sighed, before elbowing him playfully.

“News is I won my debate,” he muttered.

“We all know that’s a lie, just spit it out so we can stop wondering.” John laughed, crossing his arms, then sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

Alexander imagined their reactions— John would probably laugh, hysterically. He turned to glance at Gilbert for a moment; he would probably laugh as well, but he pictured it more smug, and judgemental. He cringed. He had no idea what to expect from Hercules. But there was no denying they were his friends, and there was no one better to tell about his, accomplishment, if he could even call it that.

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the mockery. “So, I met my soulmate.” At least it would only come when he uttered the name, so far, his ‘news’ could actually be considered good. Though somewhere in the back of his mind he chided himself; he shouldn’t be so harsh, Thomas was human too after all. Perhaps this negativity would upset him, Alexander was acting as if he was some sort of shameful creature, which he certainly wasn’t. He was actually pleasant to be around at times, and their talk in the washroom left him feeling hopeful. But he’d only admit it when he thought deeply about it.

“That’s amazing Alex, why were you so hesitant to say that?” John began speculating. “I bet it's someone weird,” he teased, “like George or Samuel.”

Alexander laughed uncomfortably. “Worse than that.”

“Charles?” Gilbert suggested. “Can you just say it already?”

“It’s not Charles.” That would be worse— _bad_ , not worse, because Alexander was trying to be kind, and willed himself to stop putting Thomas down. At least as harshly as he had been.

“Alexander.” Hercules shook his head, grinning.

“Fine, it’s Thomas okay?” He recoiled almost immediately.

As expected John laughed, pointing at him, and almost doubling over from his exaggerated fit of giggles. “ _Thomas Jefferson_ , is your soulmate?” He looked at Alexander, tears in his eyes from how insanely hilarious this was to him.

He inwardly groaned. “Yeah.”

“You know, I should have guessed, you guys have some pretty good chemistry.” He calmed down enough to explain. “You’re both passionate smart asses!”

“Thanks John,” he said sarcastically, crossing his arms over his chest.

He was somewhat glad John was receptive to the idea; he was relieved in a way, because he knew aside from sharing this new discovery, he was really looking for approval. As hard as it was to admit it, even to himself, Alexander wanted to give Thomas a chance, he wanted to comply to fate, but for that to happen naturally, he wanted support from his friends. Not that he’d ever let anyone know.

“You know, after the initial shock, I agree with John.” Gilbert smiled smugly. “Thomas has quite the attitude, but so do you. You _compliment_ each other. It’s not something I would have thought about, but now that I have, I think you would actually make a cute couple.”

Hearing the word couple, used in relation to Thomas and himself, sent Alexander into a pit of embarrassment. It washed over him, tinting his cheeks a violent red. He looked away, mumbling quietly. “You don’t need to jump to conclusions, it’s not like we’ve even talked about that.”

“You’re blushing,” John pointed out, “It’s cute how embarrassed you are, at the mention of you and Thomas.” He teased. “You know, most of the time soulmates end up getting married. Do you think you’re going to get married to Thomas?” He covered his mouth, muffling his laughter.

“John stop, lets not get ahead of ourselves!”

John finally seemed to stop laughing. He dropped a hand to Alexander’s shoulder and smiled, genuinely. “I’m happy for you Alex, we all know how much you’ve wanted to meet them.”

He returned the smile, satisfied with his friends reactions, and now, silently looking forward to the next time he could see Thomas.

 _Hey it’s Alex, you should be honoured I’m texting you, soulmate_ , he typed out a quick message to send to Thomas, a smirk tugging at his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Chapter 6 : Alexander Hamilton


	6. Alexander Hamilton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I said I would post yesterday... this is like 3 hours late and Idk who's even awake to see it now... but I am sorry for taking so long with updating!

“You know, if it means anything, I think your debate was very well done.” Aaron said, sitting on the edge of Thomas’ bed. “You weren’t there James, but Thomas did exceptionally well, I was shocked when he didn’t win.”

Thomas just shrugged. He simply couldn’t find it in himself to be upset, losing the debate was hardly the problem, foremost on his mind. Though he wondered if the word was correct, in addressing his soulmate situation. Because a part of Thomas didn’t think it was a problem at all, in fact, that part of him argued that he should be happy, that he should be smiling and celebrating because some people are destined to spend much longer alone, without the company of their soulmate.

But was _Alexander_ good company? Thomas had yet to find a clear answer.

The time he spent with him just talking like normal human beings, in the washroom prior to their debate, was oddly pleasant. He smiled to himself, thinking of Alexander’s harsh nature, and how it had softened when they spoke, as if for once Thomas was able to speak with Alexander honestly, speak to the person he is, rather than the person he pretends to be. It was nice. Thomas had no other words to describe it.

“He’s smiling, as we talk about how he lost the debate?” James commented, nudging Thomas and pulling him away from his thoughts.

“Maybe he’s thinking about crushing Alexander in the next debate.” Aaron laughed to himself. “He’s my friend, but I’d just love to see him lose for once, knock him off his pedestal.”

It was strange, because when Aaron said that he felt oddly protective, or perhaps defensive of Alexander. And since he really wasn’t expecting it, he could hardly think to stop himself from speaking up. “He worked hard you know, he deserved it. He succeeds because he cares and puts effort into the shit he does.”

For a moment the room was silent, and both James and Aaron were looking at him, wide eyed, their mouths slightly agape.

“What?” He rolled his eyes. “Is it such a surprise to you I can recognize him for being intelligent and determined? What’s so weird about that?” He felt his face becoming hot. “He’s annoying, but its not like he has no positive traits, like the shit I mentioned.”

James smiled nervously. “Who are you talking about Thomas, it certainly can’t be—”

“Don’t say his name!” Thomas cried, his face now burning all the way to his ears. He sighed breathily, horrified by the feelings Alexander had planted in him, with just one conversation.

“Don’t say what, Alexander?” James laughed, playfully punching Thomas’ shoulder.

Just upon hearing his name, Thomas felt his lips pulling upward in a smile, which he tried to play off as a smirk. He was already so hot, he couldn’t imagine his face heating up more, but somehow it had, and now his hands were shaking slightly. His body was unable to handle the immense embarrassment of the situation.

“Stop it James!”

Aaron laughed as well. “You’re acting as if you have a crush on him or something, what’s going on Thomas?” He stretched out on the end of Thomas’ bed, leaning against the wall for support. “This massive change of attitude is, worrisome.”

Thomas just sighed, heavy and long, as he dropped his shoulders and leaned back in his swivel chair, stationed in front of his desk.

“I’m just going to say this once, warning you ahead of time if the information short circuits your brains.” He takes a deep breath. “Alexander is my soulmate, he proved it to me and everything, I know it’s disturbing but I can’t help being somewhat alright with it.”

James smiled. Thomas thought he saw a hint of sadness, but as quickly as it came, it was gone. “Alexander is?” He nodded in acknowledgement. “That’s certainly something isn’t it.”

“I think there must be something wrong with the universe, you and Alexander don’t have any chemistry, in fact all you ever do is argue.” Aaron decided to grace Thomas with his opinion, which Thomas found himself immediately disagreeing with.

“Well I wouldn’t say that,” he shrugged, careful with his words and body language because he didn’t want to come off as upset.

James seemed to catch on though; he was his closest friend, so Thomas wasn’t entirely surprised. He said, “I wouldn’t say that either, as irritating as you find Alexander, you have to admit, your arguments aren’t serious, and the rivalry adds to your dynamic.”

Thomas nodded, agreeing with James. It was true. Nothing he ever said was meant to hurt Alexander; it was simply debates over class discussions, among other trivial things. Their arguments were all in fun; they’d try to outsmart the other, try to poke holes in the other’s arguments. A friendly rivalry.

He frowned at his next thought. Some of their classmates did not debate, or rather argue with Alexander in the same way he did. He could think of a few, Charles and Samuel mostly. They’d give him a hard time, and while it always bothered him, suddenly it was more personal. Thomas crossed his arms, disgusted by the thought of Charles laying a hand on his soulmate— on _Alexander_. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander to countless bursts of intwined pain, and now he could easily identify the source.

The sound of his ringtone made him flinch.

He looked down at his phone, content to be distracted from his previous thoughts.

 _Hey it’s Alex, you should be honoured I’m texting you._  

Thomas rolled his eyes, laughing lightly at Alexander’s message. He was such an idiot at times, though he would be sure to respond in an equally idiotic manner. _Who is this? No one I know by that name makes me feel honoured when they text me._

He smirked. Proud of his response.

“Who are you texting?” James thew a pillow at him, which he quickly deflected with his arms. “ _Alexander_?” He said his name in the most irritating tone Thomas had ever heard, coaxing him to whip the pillow back, with a great deal of force.

His phone vibrated again. _Oh my god, you asshole_. Thomas laughed again, amused by Alexander’s response.

 _I may not be honoured to receive texts from you._ He pauses for a moment, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard, as his heart pounded fervently in his chest. Then suddenly he was filled with courage. If this was meant to be, then his next text really wasn’t risky at all.

_But I would be honoured if you’d get lunch with me tomorrow, Soulmate._

It took Alexander a few minutes to respond. And while it was only a few minutes, Thomas was anxious, refreshing his messaging app a few times, and tapping his finger on the screen. In hindsight it was possible Alexander was trying to perfect his response. Ensure it had just the right amount of wit, while remaining charming and lighthearted. And if that was what he was doing, Thomas would say he succeeded.

 _The honour would be mine, who would I be to reject destiny?_ Thomas smirked. 

 _An idiot_. He typed, and hit send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed please consider commenting/kudosing!


	7. First Date

A date with Thomas Jefferson? Even the thought of it felt odd, completely out of place. Like maybe Alexander would wake up, his body covered in cold sweat and his heartbeat loud, ringing in his ears. He imagined himself waking from a nightmare, but that couldn’t be right. If anything, this universe was strange, but for the first time, the immediate feeling upon thinking of Thomas was not negative.

It was shy hopefulness. It was the idea of unexpected, but true love. Was it possible? Alexander was unsure. It was confusing, and hard to think about. The image he once held of his soulmate had vanished by now, and the outline of Thomas stood in it’s place.

Lunch tomorrow, as Thomas had put it, would be the determinant.

Because Alexander was not one to give up when the situation wasn’t what he expected; he would give fate a chance, and by doing so, give Thomas a chance. 

* * *

  The next day came quicker than he would have liked. The time loomed over him; seconds ticking by, bringing him closer to noon with each passing moment. Was it bad that he was anxious? He shrugged it off. He couldn’t help being nervous; the churn in his stomach and his sweaty palms were only natural, weren’t they? Though he had to remember who it was, who he was meeting, who was making him weak, with vulnerable emotion.

_Thomas_. He repeated his name in his head a few times and took a deep breath. Thomas wasn’t worth this stress; no matter his new found label, when peeled off, he was simply Thomas Jefferson. Nothing more, and nothing less.

But as Alexander paced around his room, and as he opened his drawers and struggled to pick out the right outfit, he began thinking perhaps the former was a lie. He ended up choosing a black hoodie and some ripped jeans. He wanted to appear casual, like he didn’t care about this meet up. Like he hadn’t just spent eight minutes deciding something as trivial as his wardrobe for the day. He had considered something more formal, or perhaps nicer, though that would bring Thomas to think he cared. Which he didn’t of course.

“Fuck you, Jefferson,” he mumbled under his breath.

 _Meet me at that one cafe by the school, like 12ish_. His phone buzzed, startling him.

He smirked, before quickly typing out a message in response to Thomas’. _Wow, a cliche for our first date?_ Was that too forward, he wondered, as he hit send. It was too late to take it back either way.

 _Date? It must be my lucky day if the biggest asshole I know dares call our outing a date_. His phone vibrated.

Alexander sighed loudly, his cheeks flushed, embarrassment flooding his senses. Thomas was infuriating before, when he criticized Alexander’s position on political affairs, but now, he had somehow managed to out do himself. _It’s whatever you want it to be Jefferson_. He typed quickly, his face hot, and his hands slightly shaky.

_Well in that case, this is most definitely a date. Can’t escape it, but you used the word first so you can’t blame me!_

* * *

 It was quarter to twelve when Alexander arrived at the cafe. He was surprised to see Thomas standing outside, more so when it appeared he had just arrived as well.

“A gentleman always comes early,” Thomas said, a slight spring in his playful tone.

“We’re both gentlemen, so I guess this is fitting then.” He retorted, before taking on a more serious tone. “I-it’s good to see you, kind of.”

“Kind of?” Thomas opened the door for Alexander, allowing him to walk inside before following behind. “I was hoping for something more, like, oh wow Thomas you’re so amazing, thank you for gracing me with your presence,” he teased.

“In your dreams.”

Upon entering the cafe, Alexander removed his coat, holding it under his arm, relieved to be out of the chilly weather. He took in the different smells, circulating through the small restaurant. It was a pleasant charming place, and admittedly, so was his company.

“For two?”

Alexander nodded. He felt his face heat up, as if those words solidified a fact that should have already been drilled into his mind. This was a _date_. A date between two people whose fates have been sealed, with what right now, Alexander might describe as a bittersweet kiss. Was it possible for it to lose its bitterness, and keep only the underlying sweetness Alexander found himself reluctantly clinging to? He would say that was something for the future to determine, but it was definitely not out of the question, right?

He took his seat in the booth he was directed to, across from Thomas. It felt strange sitting across from him, menus in hand, but he took a few deep breathes, and tried to normalize it. Perhaps small talk would help this situation. Talking did happen to be Alexander’s go to solution at times.

“Thomas, have you ever noticed that most of the time when city buses comes early, it’s actually the one before coming extremely late?”

“What are you talking about?” He laughed, probably perplexed by this observation. “You can really talk about _anything_ can’t you?”

“I am just trying to make conversation!” He snapped, but a playful grin pulled at his lips. “Is there anything specific you want to talk about?”

“What are you ordering?” Thomas looked over at the open menu in front of Alexander.

“I don't know, probably a sandwich or something, what about you?”

Thomas shrugged. “Not sure, but I think I might go for a BLT and the soup of the day.”

His instincts told him to find some way to mock Thomas, to try to get a rise out of him, because it was amusing and seeing his reaction would be entertaining. But a more sentimental part of him argued that maybe he should try to step past their playful banter, and search for something deeper. Then he had another thought; he was nervous, because he simply did not know what was beyond teasing provocation, and what would happen if he let his guard down.

“Sounds good, I decided I want the turkey club, and a coffee.” He fiddled with the corner of the menu, curling the edge of it between his fingers.

When the waitress returned, they ordered, before going back to talking. It was mostly small talk, commenting on the weather, on school related subjects, nothing too interesting. But somehow, Alexander wasn’t bored in the slightest. He lost himself in the moment, in their discussion, in the low hum of Thomas’ voice, and his dark eyes.

* * *

 When they were finished eating, they continued conversing, neither in a rush to leave. “Good job winning the debate by the way,” Thomas said, offering Alexander a small smirk. “I should’ve known what I threw together in one day would be no match for you.”

How things had changed. Less than a week ago Alexander would have laughed in his face, yelled in triumph, and been filled with pride. But now, he was overcome with indifference on the entire matter, because a more upsetting thought surfaced at the mention of the debate, thoughts of  his soulmate— of Thomas, and of the awful pain he had felt.

“Thanks.” His eyes drifted to the left of Thomas, settling on his right shoulder. “Are you,” he paused for a moment, “feeling better?”

Thomas moved to touch his shoulder, rather self consciously. He shrugged, and seemed to avoid eye contact. “It’s fine,” a smirk then tugged at his lips, “you seem worried,” he commented.

“Of course I am worried, it hurt like hell, the benefit of us being connected like this is you can’t even try to lie to me about this kind of stuff,” he said teasingly, even though he fully meant it.

“You can’t feel it anymore, how could you know?” Thomas laughed nervously.

“Yeah, but I can guess, and I’d guess you’d still be feeling road rash three days later, I don’t know, something about the severity of it gives me that vibe.” He brings his hand to his chin, taking on a mock thinking pose, as he speaks sarcastically.

“Then I’ll try not to lie to you Alexander,” Thomas retorted. His face seemed to fall for a moment, before he took on a more playful expression.

“It’s weird worrying about you Thomas, but I just do, and even before all this, it wasn’t like I didn’t care, I just pushed it to the back of my mind you know?”

“I can say the same about you, it seems this whole ordeal opened doors for us,” he smiled, “but those doors were always there, this connection is just a push. I never told you before, but I kind of hate the idea of fate, makes me feel out of control.”

“That’s understandable,” Alexander responded, “and you’re right, those doors would have always been there, fate is just an idea, but we’re the ones who are in control of the situation. If I wanted to call you an asshole right now I could. Even though fate wouldn’t like it too much,” he laughs lightly.

“Do it then,” Thomas smirked, his eyes meeting Alexander’s.

He couldn’t help but trace Thomas’ face with his eyes. He had a sturdy jaw, high cheekbones, and full lips, which Alexander cursed himself for admiring. It was too personal, especially for this impromptu date. But Thomas was certainly handsome; his eyes were simply alluring with their flecks of gold embedded in dark brown. He had never thought of these sorts of things before, for obvious reasons, but now, looking at Thomas was an entirely different experience.

“F-fine,” he stuttered, relived Thomas was unaware of his thoughts. “You’re an asshole Thomas Jefferson, I hope you burn in hell!”

Thomas just laughed at that. “It’s like telling off the universe, if we, uh,” he trailed off, “get together, it’s cause we want it, not fate.”

“Then wouldn’t it still be fate?”

Thomas shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s all so confusing, but falling for you, it’s going to be on my terms, not because I feel your pain and the gods have this predetermined plan for us.” He said, taking on a mocking tone.

“Falling for me?” Alexander laughed at that. “I promise then, it’ll be me who makes you fall, nothing else.”

He blushed as he spoke, realizing how forward and bold his words were, but somehow he didn’t regret them. He merely looked away, his eyes dropped to the table, and his gaze directed at the crumbs on his plate.

“ _Determined_ are you?”

“S-somewhat?” He shrugged. “What’s the right answer?”  

“I don’t know, all I can say is, well,” Thomas met his eyes, a genuine smile pulled across his lips, “I’m determined too, I may not like the idea of destiny, but it brought us together, and like hell if I’m not going to try.” Thomas paused for a moment, and looked away. “Besides, you’re cute Alexander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed please consider commenting/kudosing!


End file.
